


Steadfast

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-30
Updated: 2003-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éomer and Éowyn say goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to geekturnedvamp, for the theoretical.

  
We laid our uncle the king to rest beneath a roof of stone and earth. And in the Golden Hall Éowyn came to me bearing a cup for his memory, her eyes filling over with tears. I marveled at the sight, my sister weeping so openly. But when she drew closer, and stood holding out the cup for me to take, I saw that she rejoiced even though she grieved, her smile like the sun shining through a curtain of rain.

She rejoiced because Théoden King joined the company of his fathers in triumph and victory, and because his life was full. Yet I felt tears prick at my own eyes, and accepting the cup, I embraced her and held her close. She understood at once, her body melting against mine and trembling like a bird's. Of its own accord my heart thrilled that she should respond so to me, even now when it could no longer be right.

She whispered, her breath moist in my ear, "I have no need of comfort, brother, for this day is sad and joyous both. But I would that you took as much happiness from me as I could give you now, for your need will be greater once our ways are parted."

Over her shoulder I espied the dark head of the young Steward of Gondor, saw that he in turn was watching us. He was a man who spent the greater part of his days watching: people and places and happenings. I suspected it was no struggle for him to comprehend the things he saw.

Therefore, because it was not meet that he should comprehend what he could not understand, I set my sister gently aside and bade the naming of the Lords of the Mark begin.

At Théoden's name I drained the cup. Sweet mead from the keep's stores, bringing to me a memory of my boyhood: Éowyn and I chasing each other through the sun-lined shadows of the Golden Hall, and Théodred our cousin chiding us for our misbehavior. He was then already a man, and I nearly twelve -- old enough, he said, to begin thinking of becoming one. He let me drink the mead from his cup, my first taste of the stuff, and when he was not looking I in turn gave the cup to Éowyn, for she begged to be included.

Now here I stood, not only a man, but king. I heard my name shouted to the rafters of the Hall, and it seemed as if I stood in a dream. It was not until I met Éowyn's clear gaze again, her strength offered to me unspoken, that I truly perceived this was real.

Then it struck me like a blow: how could I possibly think to rule -- nay, even to _exist_ \-- with her so far from my side? One by one our family had departed this life for the halls of our ancestors; only the two of us now remained. Steadfast Éowyn, savior of Rohan and of myself, tens and hundreds and thousands of times over.

Yet I knew, even so, that this was what I must do. With a heavy heart I watched my sister walk down the length of the table to where Faramir sat feasting. She held her head high, her brow proud and fierce, the line of her neck as graceful as a river.

And I knew, further, that though I might spend the entire kingdom of Rohan, I would never be able to keep her where she did not wish to be.

*

Faramir and the others of Gondor remained at Edoras until King Elessar returned from his escort of the Fellowship. Upon the king's arrival the party from Gondor began preparations for the journey home. Éowyn and I were to travel with them, bringing with us a guard of honor, for she was to be married to the Steward within three days of reaching Minas Tirith.

The night before our departure I went to the royal stables personally to see that all of the horses and trappings were fit. This had been one of my primary duties as a Marshal of the Riddermark, one I was loathe to leave to others so soon. As well, sleep had been elusive to me that night, and I preferred work and action to tossing and turning restlessly in a tangle of sheets.

Vast as they were, the stables were nearly full that night, for they housed all of the horses to be ridden by those of noble blood. So many wondrous specimens of horseflesh Rohan had perhaps never seen in one place before. Each of the beasts gleamed in the moonlight shining through the high windows, muscles rippling beneath silky coats.

I went last to the stall of my own horse, Windhelm, and to that of Éowyn's new mare, Ancalimë. The mare was a gift to her from the Steward, named for some ancient queen of the Númenorean line. She whinnied softly at my approach, and allowed me to begin grooming her. I judged the mare a good enough gift for my sister, though Gondor-bred. At least she was well mannered, and healthy besides. When I rubbed her down with the fine-toothed brush, she fairly glowed.

So consumed was I in my tasks that I did not notice the silence that had fallen over the stable. At all times there were posted at least two guards, for the horses of the Riddermark are valuable. However, gradually I did become aware that I could no longer hear their conversation, and that the stable was eerily quiet. I looked up to see what was about.

There at the opening of the stall was my sister, Éowyn.

She stood in a pool of moonlight, a short ermine shawl wrapped about her elbows. Beneath it she wore nothing but a white shift for sleeping. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. Like a statue she was, a figure straight from the songs of our people.

"How long have you been waiting?" I asked. "You should have spoken."

"Not so long. I preferred to observe you." She smiled, and that broke the illusion. "I sent the others away, yet I must ask -- is it really necessary for the king to take such menial tasks upon himself?"

"It is not a necessity, but a pleasure."

She nodded. "Yes, I well remember that pleasure."

I shivered at the meaning in her words.

Stepping closer, she bent and retrieved another brush from the hay-strewn floor. Together we groomed the mare, our motions familiar and knowing, the circular strokes like echoes of each other. After a moment Éowyn discarded her shawl so that her arms were free. It was then I noticed that her feet were bare as well. Her ankles flashed white in the dimness.

"You should not have come here unshod," I said, grasping her arm to pull her away.

"The mare will not hurt me," Éowyn replied.

"You are so sure of this?"

"Of course. I have ridden her several times. I am no longer a child learning the ways of horses, brother." She spoke with an arch tone, but she had not yet shaken off my hand, as she might have done rebelliously in the past.

"Still," I said. "It worries me."

She smiled again, and putting her hand on mine drew me across the way into an empty stall, pulling me closer. "It is no matter. I did not come here to groom horses."

"Then why did you come?" She was too near, the scent of her clouding the very air, and I turned away. My voice sounded harsh and too loud. The better for it, I thought. At least then I might pretend to govern myself, and in pretending, perhaps achieve truth.

"Do you not know the answer without need of asking?" came her voice over my shoulder.

"No. As you said, you are no longer a child."

"Then perhaps it would be best to kindle memory without words." Her arms encircled me from behind, her hand sliding downward from my waist.

I jerked free. "You are to be married in less than a week."

"No more than the change of a season -- "

"It is the change of an age! You are no longer free to do as you please. Nor should you have been in the first place. We were wrong in our youth."

"Nay, my brother," she said. "We were young in our youth. And you know as well as I that youth, for all it is rash and innocent and bold, does not lie."

When I did not immediately answer, she pulled me to face her again, her strength nearly that of a man. I saw that her jaw was set, her eyes flashing.

"I shall always be free to do as I please," she said. "And I do not foresee that I should ever condemn such things between us."

"You know the things we may allow between us!"

She shook her head, her eyes searching my face. So difficult to meet her gaze, this woman of my blood, this woman who had fought darkness, vanquished it, and nearly succumbed to it herself.

"Why do you fight me?" she said at last. "We have only this time together, and then I do not know when we shall have opportunity again."

"It is for that reason," I said, "that I cannot do as you wish."

"And yet, is it my wish alone?" she whispered, and bent my head toward her.

Her lips were cool, softer than I had remembered. Ah, sweet sister, it had been so long, an age already since we had last come to each other for this comfort. Briefly I shut my eyes and acquiesced to the pressure of her hands, to the feel of her slim body leaning upward, until reason finally broke through the veil of desire. I straightened and, as I had done in the Golden Hall when the Steward's gaze fell upon us, I put her aside from me.

A tear glistened on her cheek. She brushed it away with a furious hand. "We have always deemed the code of love between the sexes unfit for us," she said. "Why do you now adopt it as our guiding rule, as if only you may choose such for me?"

"Because you are to be _married_!" I said again. "You have already chosen!"

"Can I not love you both?"

"I do not believe even your heart is so great." Of a sudden, I found it difficult to speak. "Éowyn, it is time you departed this cage."

"It is not a cage to me," she cried. "And never shall it be. Distance and other loves -- these are but passing things. Do you not know our places must always be together?"

But the sound of her voice was drowned out by memory of another: my own, declaring to the Golden Hall, _Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all…and the more do I rejoice._

I said to her now, though it pained me, "We both have already chosen."

Yet taking my leave was more difficult than any ride I had ever made as a Marshal of Rohan. In the quiet stable, between each slow step I took I heard her weeping. The sound was still so strange to me; it pierced my heart like the swiftest and deadliest of arrows. She had not wept such tears since the death of our mother. And as it had been then, so it was now: I could not bear to hear her weep.

Almost without knowledge of what I meant to do, I found myself turning back. She stood clutching the top of the shoulder-high stall barrier, her head bent between her arms as she sobbed. So white and pure she seemed, I wondered that any man dared to touch her.

Yet touch her I did, her hair soft and fragrant beneath my lips, smelling of wind and the hills of the Mark, the white evermind that grew on the burial mounds. "Éowyn," I said, "I beg of you. Do not shed tears for me."

"How can I not when you treat me so coldly?"

"It is not coldness that keeps me from you."

"Is it not?" She lifted her head but did not turn around. "So much sorrow did I find when the king became ill, when our cousin perished, when you were sent away. Easy enough then to withdraw and turn my heart to ice, though it was the harder course. And indeed, I suffered much for it. Do not make the same mistakes as I."

"It is not coldness," I said, breathing deeply of her hair. "Rather, fear of what fires we may alight."

"But I am not afraid." She drew my arm around her, pressing my hand to her heart so I could feel how it thundered within her breast. "And I will be brave for the both of us, brother."

She was trembling again, and the feel of it against my body, here where no one could see, was my undoing. I put my other arm around her and drew her close. She gasped, her breath hitching not on a sob, but a release of joy.

I kissed her neck, where her skin was silken and warm. She lifted her hand to hold the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair.

Her breasts were fuller than I remembered. Beneath the fabric of her shift I could feel the tips of them harden against my palms. Cupping their weight, I caressed her nipples with my thumbs and tongued her neck until she sighed, pressing herself against my hips.

Already I had grown hard inside my breeches -- in fact had been so from the moment I had kissed her hair -- and each brush of her was the sweetest of tortures.

Desire was no longer a mist clouding my head, but rather the bright white moonlight, in which everything is made clearer and sharper: her scent filling my nostrils, her body arching with arousal, the whispery sounds of her breath as I touched her.

I drew the skirt of her shift up with one hand, and with the other pushed it down from her shoulders. Her naked flesh seared my very skin. I circled my fingers between her legs, where she was already slick and hot.

Like the lightning flash of a sword, she turned in my arms and pulled me against her. Hungrily, we kissed, and her mouth was no longer cool but eager, opening my lips with her tongue before I could even think to slow our actions. Nor did I want to, any longer -- at my waist I felt her quick hands unknotting my breeches, and I helped her open them so she could slip her hand inside.

Oh, she had forgotten nothing! Though we were older, and much care and sorrow had worked their ills upon us since last we met in such a manner, still she knew how to quicken my excitement. Each stroke sent a bolt of fire to my groin, until the ache of it left me ready to burst. I moaned into her mouth, pushing her against the wood slats of the stall barrier.

In the past this was all we had ever attempted. Always before we had kept to the use of our hands, ever mindful that she must remain virgin. It had been enough then, but I had known other women since, and learned much from them. I wished to show Éowyn such things now.

She gasped as I knelt on the floor of the stable, pushing her skirt above her hips. Her thighs glowed like marble, but when I kissed my way to the place where they met, her flesh was hot and quivering. The scent of her arousal rose around me, my blood drumming a war beat in response.

"Oh!" she cried, as I pleasured her with my mouth. She tasted of the sort of mead that has been colored in fire, heady and smoky and thick. I was drunk with it, with the sounds of my tongue working between her legs, the way her hands clutched my hair, the way it was necessary to hold her hips in place because she could not help but buck.

Spreading her arms outward along the top of the stall barrier, she pushed her shoulders against the wood and propped her bare feet on my knees. I spread her legs wider, opening her to me, and swept my tongue over and over against her sex.

As I did this my gaze fixed on her, the glorious mane of hair falling wildly over her bare breasts, the way she cried out and gasped for air. By all the Lords of the Mark, she was magnificent!

I sought to bring her to climax, unmindful of my own desire, but suddenly she broke free of my hands and, in a move too swift for me to stop her, sank down upon my erection.

It was all I could do not to shout. I felt her maidenhead break, and then I was engulfed in heat so fiery it was as if she had pushed me into the cleft of Mount Doom itself. Tight around me she was, tighter than reason or rational thought.

Still I struggled to reign myself in. "Why?" I cried. "Éowyn, why?"

In answer she encircled her arms around me and pressed me close. "You are the only man to whom I would give this."

"It is a gift I would never have accepted. What will your husband do, upon discovering he is not your first?"

"He knows already who is first in my heart."

She kissed me, fierce and yielding at the same time, opening herself like a flag unfurling. Though she had never done this, she moved above me, covering me anew in fire.

"Help me, my brother," she said. "For it is you alone who can give me this pleasure."

And again, I could not resist. Resigned to my fate, I moved my hands to her hips and pushed myself deeper into her. The feel of it was so acutely exquisite that we cried out together, swallowing the sounds with a kiss.

She rode me, her thighs strong around my hips. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and clasped her buttocks with my other hand, letting her weight fall back so that I could tongue her nipples, one after the other. She bucked again but I held her steady, giving her all the pleasure that I knew.

Finally, her breath caught and she tightened and shuddered around me. "Ah!" she cried. " _Éomer_!"

The sound of my name shouted thus broke all restraint in me. I pushed her against the floor and thrust into her with utter abandon, each stroke driving me further and further to the edge, until finally it seemed my entire body had become a vessel of fire, and I climaxed like a shield shattering beneath a blow.

It seemed I blacked out with the force of it, for as if out of a dream I felt her hands caressing my face, bringing me back to consciousness. I was still sheathed in her, my body draped over her like a blanket.

"Beloved," she said, when I opened my eyes. Framed in moonlight beneath me, she looked as if she did come out of a dream, my sister the White Lady of Rohan, both past and present at once in ethereal form. "Always, my brother, beloved."

She looked so, but she was solid enough when I kissed her, real enough and warm when I held her close. "And you," I whispered back, tracing the last remnants of tears from her cheeks. "Whatever may come, Éowyn. And you."


End file.
